Weaving Fire
by howdoyouspace
Summary: I really wanted to call this Dragon Tales but I also didn't want to get sued so you get this instead. RusAme with Alfred the dragon and Ivan the overworked weaver. Because all Dragon AU fics I found were a little too kinky for me. If I could add another genre it would be humor because this entire thing is a joke. (JK, I just make a lot of jokes. It's serious writing.)
1. Chapter 1

Alfred F. Jones prided himself on being a rather optimistic creature. He saw cloudy days as the perfect time to take a nap, he thought of getting stabbed as a great opportunity to let out some pent-up anger, and he liked to imagine that when he finally did meet his mortal end, his body would be used to find the cure to dragonpox or something of a similar degree. Unfortunately, all the optimism in the world can't stop a harpoon from being shot at someone, and seeing as that someone was Alfred himself, the dragon couldn't help but feel a little bit gloomy.

"Take that, you foul beast!" The knight who had fired the harpoon roared, spittle catching in his overgrown beard. If Alfred hadn't been so preoccupied with not dying, he might have yelled back something along the lines of:

"Who are _you_ calling foul, Sir I-Haven't-Bathed-in-a-Month? At least I brush my teeth regularly, unlike you who apparently thinks that ale counts as mouthwash!"

Somebody would eventually have the chance to tell the knight this, but it would be a young woman he would try to pick up at a bar later that night, not Alfred.

The dragon twirled around the huge cave he had been ambushed in, wings straining with the effort of dodging the knight's attacks. The knight may not have been bright, nor handsome, nor strong, but he was the son of Sir Wentsworth, creator of the Shoots-A-Lot harpoon gun, and as everyone knows it's not personal ability that gets you far in life, it's connections.

Finally, Alfred spotted what he had been looking for while the knight had been monologuing a couple of minutes prior: an opening in the roof of the cave that was tucked out of view and just large enough for a man to fit through. Sunlight filtered through it liberally, shining like a beacon of hope. Sucking in a large breath of air, Alfred rocketed towards it. A tinkling noise like the sound of a thousand tiny pieces of glass replaced the shouting of the knight as Alfred's body tightened and contorted, squeezing down and shedding its scales until he was just a man, albeit a man who was shooting through the air at speeds which would be at the very least uncomfortable for most humans.

Alfred passed directly through the center of the opening, wincing when his shoulder briefly caught on a rouge edge of stone. His feet touched down lightly on the grassy peak of the hill which the cave hid under, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Note to self, no more stopping for naps while traveling through this godsforsaken kingdom," he groaned, poking at the gash on his shoulder. It wasn't too deep, but it had been enough to wound his pride.

Reaching into the pocket of the robe he had changed into when he transformed, Alfred pulled out a gold crown piece and tossed it back down the cave opening.

"Have a drink on me," he shouted at the knight. "And then get a real job!"

The knight was so in shock from witnessing a dragon turn into a young man that he took this advice to heart, and after almost getting alcohol poisoning he decided to reform himself and open an eventually world-renowned bed-and-breakfast.

Alfred, meanwhile, shifted his body back to its original form and launched himself back into the skies, content to forget the entire encounter and just get on with his journey already. He had been visiting his brother in the north for a couple of weeks, and was anxious to make sure that nobody had ransacked his home. Ever since the dawn of human-dragon relations, home invasion had been a hot-button topic, with dragons complaining that people kept taking their prized possessions - which was true - and humans complaining that dragons kept taking all their possessions - which was also true. Ironically, neither side managed to realize the similarities in their complaints for several centuries.

Luckily for Alfred, as the sun began to fade from view the cavern he called home rose in the distance, untouched and intruder free. The stress that had plagued him for his entire trip disappeared as he glided to the ground, relishing in the feeling of the last rays of sunshine. The basic illusion enchantment that hid the mouth of the cavern rippled around Alfred as he passed through it. Inside, pain-stakingly suspended panes and slivers of stained glass caught the sun and decorated the stone with dapples of color. Tapestries both old and new, big and small, covered the walls, trapping the sound of Alfred's claws scraping against the cold stone ground. His scales rippled as the muscles underneath them unwound themselves from the strain of a long flight. Curling into a crescent, Alfred let out a puff of smoke and allowed himself to finally sleep.

Miles away, in the closest city, there was a man who was decidedly less content than Alfred. Ivan Braginsky was a clothesmith by trade, a job which was usually quite rewarding but which, during this particular time of this particular year, was hell. The crown princess was coming of age, and as such a huge ball was to be held in her honor. Nearly everyone was invited, leaving Ivan with the dilemma of having to sew precisely twelve ball gowns and fourteen suits on top of his usual commissions. With the deadline of the ball looming ever closer, Ivan had taken to not sleeping for more than a few hours every day, and was, to put it simply, a man on the edge.

The first rays of sunshine filtered lazily through the thick glass panes of Ivan's shop, illuminating the man's hands as they deftly stitched together the bodice of a gown. The candle that was still burning next to him was doing so by some sort of divine intervention, as its wick had long since run its course. If Ivan had noticed, a possibility bordering on impossible, he didn't show it. He barely even noticed the ringing of the shop door as his sisters entered. He did, however, notice when a loaf of bread was thrown at his head.

"Natasha!" Ivan's older sister cried. "We've talked about this!"

"You said not to use excessive force," Natasha calmly replied. "That wasn't excessive."

"It didn't hurt too much, Katyusha," Ivan said, rubbing the side of his head. He was lying; the bread was slightly stale.

"It's the principle of the matter. And besides, you've been staying up so late these past few months that I'm worried you'll go straight into a coma if you get hurt," the woman huffed. "How about you take a break from work today?"

"If I take a break from today what's stopping me from taking a break tomorrow?" Ivan sighed. He picked the bodice back up and continued stitching.

"You wouldn't have the balls to risk not finishing those outfits on time," Natasha bluntly stated.

"You need to give yourself a break, or else you'll get too tired to finish anything properly."

"And if you keep staying up all night working you'll need to get glasses."

Making a show of putting down his sewing, Ivan finally acquiesced to his sisters' urgings, and they left the shop in search of morning pastries.

Also in search of pastries was an incredibly hungry dragon, who was at the moment debating whether or not he should buy twelve or sixteen danishes, much to the mixed delight and horror of the baker.

"Can I get a discount if I get sixteen?" Alfred asked, eyes never leaving the pastries.

"Uh, well, I, uh, I guess I could give you a small discount," the baker smiled nervously. His nervousness, it should be explained, was due to two things. Firstly, the eyes of his seemingly human customer were just slightly too bright to be normal - even through the lenses of the young man's glasses they appeared to be made of captured blue-hot fire. And, secondly, the man had made it clear that the danishes were for him and him only, and the baker had never seen someone eat sixteen pastries in one go.

"Great! How about I take sixteen danishes and you throw in a croissant for free?" Alfred beamed. The baker obliged.

_I really shouldn't have gone to sleep before getting some dinner last night, _Alfred thought as he swallowed a danish whole. The dragon had woken up that morning with an emptier stomach than he had ever had, and it had taken all of his willpower not to devour the livestock he passed on his way to the city.

Ivan had also been incredibly hungry when his sisters called on him, and was quite dismayed to find out that all of his favorite danishes had been bought out a couple of minutes prior.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Braginsky, someone came in and bought all of them," the baker sheepishly explained for the third time. "You just missed him, actually."

"Which way did he go?" Ivan asked, voice low.

"He went left, we passed him on the way down the street," Natasha responded neutrally.

"Ah," Ivan said before turning on his heel and rushing out of the bakery.

Ivan Braginsky was a man on the edge, indeed, and the one thing his mind chose to fixate on at that moment was how to get those danishes back. Alfred was oblivious to the bear-like man bearing down on him, and as such was quite startled when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder and whirled him around. Both parties' words died on their lips as they locked eyes. Alfred found his first.

"How may I help you?" He grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

Throughout his life, Ivan had seen many things, but he had never seen a man like the one who stood before him. The other's hair shined like gold in the early morning light, a hue that greatly complimented his deeply tanned skin. He wore a plain tunic underneath an intricately decorated vest; the sleeves were rolled up, showing off toned arms the same sun-kissed color as the man's face. Light freckles brushed the man's cheeks, drawing Ivan's attention to the strong line of his nose and the full curve of his smile. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat upon the man's prominent cheekbones, framing eyes so blue Ivan felt like he could get lost forever in their swirling depths.

"How may I help you?" The stranger said, eyes twinkling and mouth curling into a brilliant grin. Ivan mentally shook his head. He really needed to get more sleep if this was how he was going to act around others.

"You bought all of the danishes from that bakery, yes?" He asked. The stranger's face faltered, replaced by a bewildered smile.

"Um, yes?" He responded. Ivan opened his mouth to tell the man off - how dare he just go and buy out the store? Didn't he know that other people might have wanted a danish? - but before he could do so his mind blanked. Had he really just chased down a complete stranger because of a pastry? Ivan's face flushed darkly.

"Never mind," he muttered turning to leave. Before he could step away, though, a hand clasped around his wrist. Even through the fabric of his shirt Ivan could feel the warmth radiating from it, and he flushed even deeper. What was wrong with him today?

"Sorry, were you going to buy one? I was so hungry that I wasn't really thinking about things like that," The stranger said with a slight laugh, rubbing his free hand against the back of his neck. "I apologize." Ivan's eyes widened.

"You don't have to apologize," he said hurriedly, placing his hand atop the stranger's. "I acted irrationally, I should be the one apologizing."

The other man smiled and pulled his hand away from Ivan.

"I would offer you one, but I've eaten them all already," he said sheepishly. "I, uh, am Alfred, by the way. Alfred F. Jones."

"Ivan Braginsky," Ivan said. The two stared at each other for a moment. This time Ivan spoke first. "I need to get going now."

"Oh, right, sorry," Alfred laughed. "You probably have better things to do than run after danish bandits."

"I wouldn't call them better," Ivan groaned, thinking about all of the work that awaited him at home. "The princess's coming of age celebration has raised my profits at the expense of my happiness." Alfred laughed again.

"Well, if you need any energy potions, I can make you some. It's the least I can do after taking your breakfast." Alfred pulled a small leather-bound notebook out of his vest pocket. "Here, write down your address and I'll bring them over in a few days."

"How much would I owe you?" Ivan asked, writing down the name of his shop.

"It's on the house."

"What?" Ivan gaped. Energy potions, especially good ones, normally cost a lot.

"Like I said, it's the least I can do," Alfred shrugged. His fingers briefly brushed against Ivan's as he took back his notebook, and Ivan blushed again at their abnormal warmth. With a slight wave, Alfred turned and continued down the street, leaving Ivan standing alone with his thoughts.

_Who in the world was that person?_ He thought. It was said that the gods would sometimes walk among mortals, and Ivan was not entirely sure he hadn't just met one of them. Alfred had been so bright, so comfortable, so warm - both in his appearance and personality - that Ivan couldn't think of him as anything other than ethereal. And yeah, sure, the man had eaten sixteen danishes, which was not very godly at all, but he had managed to do so within a matter of minutes, so Ivan was convinced that Alfred had at least some supernatural abilities.

"Are you alright, brother?" Katyusha shook Ivan's shoulder, bringing him out of his trance.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ivan sighed happily. "I just met someone very interesting."

Alfred could say the same thing. It wasn't every day that the dragon was chased down by someone brave enough to call him out on his eating habits, and it definitely wasn't every day that the person chasing him down turned out to be incredibly attractive. Alfred looked at the address written down in his notebook again. _I'll have to get those potions started as soon as I get home, _he thought with a smile.

As he navigated his way through the awakening bustle of the streets, Alfred's mind wandered back to his encounter with Ivan. The nearly porcelain features of the man had been dusted with pink by his pursuit of Alfred, and his eyes - what color were they even? Lavender, violet, dark blue? Alfred couldn't seem to figure out what word described them best - had flashed with angry determination. His ashen-blond hair had been just a little longer than normal, and it had brushed against his forehead and ears; Alfred had had to keep stopping himself from tucking it away from Ivan's face.

Alfred could still remember the feeling of Ivan's hand on his shoulder, of Ivan's wrist beneath his hand. The man was built like a lumberjack, that was for sure, but there had been a delicate gracefulness to his movements, even through his awkwardness. And, to top it all off, the name of the shop Ivan had given Alfred was _Braginsky Weaving_. The dragon swooned. A man who was handsome _and_ who could provide Alfred with tapestries for his hoard? He was perfect.

Of course, he was also human. And while human-dragon relations were definitely better than they had been in centuries past, both sides were still wary of one another. Besides, humans had such small lifespans compared to dragons. Alfred sighed, his fantasies of getting a house with Ivan and adopting a few kids going down in flames. _Well_, he thought hopefully. _I can still flirt with him, I suppose_. But what if Alfred led Ivan on and Ivan proposed and Alfred had to break the man's heart and Ivan never forgave him and refused to talk to him again and what if what if what if.

Alfred's cheery countenance fell into one of despair.

"He probably wasn't all that interested in me anyways," he grumbled to himself. Still, a deal was a deal, and even if it would hurt to see Ivan again Alfred had promised him energy potions. And so, with a cloud hanging over his heart, the dragon straightened his back and went in search of ingredients.


	3. Chapter 3

Making energy potions is not common knowledge, and because of this it is not common knowledge that in order to make an energy potion, a certain level of affection is required. Most potion-masters, warlocks, enchanters and what-nots have a hard time feeling affection for people they don't know, and therefore tend to charge absurd prices for energy potions. They then feel affection towards their customers' wallets, and can easily go about making the potion with minimal difficulty.

The ingredients required to make the potion are surprisingly common, and the process taken to prepare the potion is astoundingly easy, so long as the person making it has basic cooking skills. The main downside to energy potions is that, along with affection, they require energy. After all, the first rule of potion-making is that you get what you give.

Resultantly, when Alfred delivered the promised potions to Ivan three days after their meeting, he was just as tired as Ivan himself.

"Well, this is the address," Alfred mumbled. The store he stood in front of was nothing special, but it still managed to carry itself with a certain kind of quiet charm. Old crates full of dirt and colorful flowers stood in front of the shop, adding a perfumed scent to the mid-June air. Thick panes of glass gently distorted Alfred's view of the shop's interior, but it was obvious from the rugs and dresses hanging inside that the shop belonged to a clothesmith. The sun-worn front door of the shop was propped open, and Alfred could hear muffled shouting from inside.

"It went that way!" A woman cried followed by what sounded like a hundred pots falling.

_I could just walk away, _Alfred thought blearily. _Nobody would even notice._ As if hearing his thoughts, a young woman - a girl, honestly - appeared in the doorway of the shop. She held a broom in her hand and a scowl on her face.

"Are you the danish thief?" She asked.

"Uh," Alfred said elegantly. The girl muttered something darkly under her breath and grabbed Alfred's arm.

"Come on, maybe you know how to catch a chicken," she said, dragging Alfred into the shop and then upwards into the apartment that sat a floor above. The coziness of the area was easily seen, despite the debris that littered it., and Alfred breathed in deeply. His cavern was home, of course, but human houses could be so comfortable, especially when compared to the cold stones and jutting stalactites of a dragon's cave.

"Got it!" Alfred could hear Ivan triumphantly cry from an out-of-view room. "I told you, Natasha, I could do it on my own."

"I still brought help," The girl - Natasha, he had said - dryly responded, her hand continuing to dig into Alfred's arm. It took a lot to physically hurt a dragon, even when they were in human form, but Natasha was managing to do it. Ivan rounded a corner and entered the room, hair ruffled and full of dust. Cradled in his arms was a rather disgruntled looking chicken. When Ivan caught sight of Alfred, his grin faded and was replaced by a burning crimson hue. Alfred gave a small wave.

"Hey," he said. Ivan stared. The chicken clucked angrily. Natasha let out a snort and dropped Alfred's arm.

"I told you that leaving the door open was a bad idea," she huffed, handing Ivan her broom and taking the chicken. She gave Alfred a dark glare before briskly making her way back downstairs.

"It wasn't my idea," Ivan mumbled. His eyes were still fixated on Alfred, as if he wasn't entirely sure that the latter was there. His hands unconsciously gripped around the broom.

"Vanya, who's there?" Someone called from the room Ivan had left. A woman peeked into the room and smiled warmly when she caught sight of Alfred. "You must be Alfred. My brother told us all about you."

"He did?" Alfred asked, raising a brow. Ivan grimaced.

"My name is Yekaterina," the woman said, walking up to Alfred. She was as covered in dust as her brother, and up close the family resemblance was obvious. "You can call me Katyusha."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Alfred said. "Your house is very nice." Katyusha laughed.

"It's not my house. My brother lives here alone," she said with a particular emphasis on the last word. Both Alred and Ivan's faces pinkened.

"Katyusha, would you please put on a kettle for tea?" Ivan asked in a tight voice.

"Oh, of course!" She said happily before bustling off into the kitchen. Alfred cleared his throat and reached into his satchel, producing three small bottles of thick, electric blue liquid.

"Sorry these took so long to make," he said, stepping forward to place them in Ivan's hands.

"It's fine," Ivan breathed. "Quite honestly, I wasn't expecting you to actually make them for me."

"I keep my promises," Alfred frowned. Ivan winced.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to imply that you wouldn't."

"If we spend all of our time apologizing to one another, our relationship isn't going to get anywhere," Alfred snorted. It took a moment for him to realize his mistake. "Not that we have a, y'know, a relationship or anything."

"Definitely not," Ivan said. "I don't even know you and you don't even know me."

"Of course. Although, I _have_ been in your house and met your family," Alfred laughed before mentally smacking himself. He had told himself to say hello, drop off the potions, and then leave, but somewhere along the line he had messed that plan up.

"Well, in that case the only reasonable thing for you to do now is take me out for lunch," Ivan smirked. He made quite the sight, Alfred thought, holding a broom, covered entirely in dust, and managing to make a dragon blush for what had to be the thousandth time this week.

"I know a place," Katyusha said from the kitchen. "It's pretty cheap but the food is good."

"And it's more private than this," Ivan said, quiet enough that only Alfred could hear. The dragon couldn't help but smile.

"You may want to change your clothes first, though," he said. Crossing the distance between them in two quick paces, Alfred gently reached up and brushed through Ivan's hair, pulling out a large chicken feather.

Ivan picked out the nicest shirt he had - a dark red tunic with intricately embroidered hems and sleeves. He scrubbed himself clean with water twice, attacking the dust that covered his entire body with all the viciousness of the generals he was unknowingly descended from. He had never put so much effort into his appearance as he did then, and when he returned to the living room where Alfred and Katyusha were enjoying their tea it was obvious that his desired goal had been accomplished. Alfred nearly gaped at Ivan, eyes bright behind his glasses.

"Ready to go?" Ivan asked, barely containing a smirk. Katyusha smiled.

"I'll clean up here," she said. Before Alfred could protest she had picked up their cups and disappeared.

"You look great," Alfred said as soon as Katyusha was out of sight. His eyes briefly flashed over Ivan, swirling azure taking in every detail. Ivan could feel his skin prickle.

"If you spend too much time ogling me we're never going to be able to eat," Ivan said. Alfred flashed a brilliant smile and stood. Side-by-side, they walked downstairs.

_He's so close, _Alfred thought. Their hands brushed past each other.

_He's still so warm, _Ivan thought. All it would take was a little motion and they could hold hands.

"You two look like idiots," Natasha said, breaking both men out of their thoughts. The girl sat in a large armchair nestled into the corner of the store, feet propped up on an ottoman and a large book on her lap. She held a notebook and pen in her hands, and had obviously been doing some sort of research before she was interrupted by Ivan and Alfred's presence.

"Why thank you, Natasha," Alfred cheekily grinned. Natasha's eyes glinted.

"You will call me Natalia. Not Natasha," she said, tone dark.

"Will do, Natasha," Alfred responded before grabbing Ivan's hand and running out of the store, barely dodging the pen Natasha threw at him.

_Well, _Natasha thought as she retrieved her pen. _At least that got them to finally just hold hands. _She shook her head and sat back down in her chair, reopening the large book with a faded cover.

Barely able to be seen through years of age was the title: _The Complete Guide and History of Dragons. _


End file.
